


You’re a Breath of Fresh Air to Me

by strangeallure



Category: Adam (2009), CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Female-Centric, Femslash, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by a Movie, POV Female Character, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:30:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Genevieve likes her life as it is: predictable, organized and safe. Her new neighbor, Adrianne, seems to like hers just the opposite: a little disorganized, spontaneous and in-the-moment. And somehow, getting to know Adrianne makes Genevieve want to take a chance and try something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You’re a Breath of Fresh Air to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, scintilla10. Without your enthusiasm, good advice and keen eye, this would be a different story.
> 
> For those who’ve seen the movie: unlike Adam, Genevieve doesn’t have Asperger’s/autism spectrum disorder. She’s really just a little set in her ways and socially awkward. Also, this is not a retelling, I’m just borrowing the basic set-up.
> 
> Title from Moloko’s “The Time Is Now”.
> 
> Podfic! exmanhater recorded a wonderful podfic of this story and included it in an anthology of CWRPF femslash (and there's some SPN femslash in there, too). The collection offers many fun, sweet and sexy stories by amazing authors, and you can download it right [here](http://amplificathon.livejournal.com/1305952.html). Enjoy!
> 
> First posted on LJ in November 2011.

Genevieve isn’t spontaneous. She doesn’t like impulsiveness or change, hasn’t liked either in a long time. She likes for things to be in order, to go according to plan. She likes for her life to be predictable and safe.

A place for everything, and everything in its place. A time for everything, and everything in its time.

She gets up at 7:15 a.m. every morning and goes to bed at 11:00 p.m. every night. She slides into bed on the left side and slides out on the right (she has two pairs of slippers because of this).

Oatmeal with berries on Monday. Oatmeal with nuts and preserve on Tuesday. Scrambled eggs, three strips of bacon and whole wheat toast on weekends. And cornflakes with a sliced banana and semi-skimmed milk on the days in between. Weekends she eats at the table, reading the paper. On weekdays, she eats at the breakfast bar, leaving her bowl and coffee cup (always decaf with whole milk) to soak in the sink after exactly ten minutes.

She takes twenty-seven minutes in the bathroom each morning and eight each night. She always does the dishes before bed, vacuums Wednesdays and Saturdays and cleans for three-and-a-half hours each Saturday, too.

When it’s over forty degrees out and the weather forecast doesn't predict rain, she takes a forty-five minute walk every evening an hour after she eats dinner. If it’s colder or rainy, she uses the gym in her apartment building. After the gym, she takes a shower, which means she has fifteen fewer minutes to read or watch TV those nights, so she prefers walking.

She knows exactly how long it takes her to get to the metro station, the National Mall and the grocery store.

Genevieve knows a lot of things.

What she doesn’t know is how to handle her new neighbor.

It starts with a knock on her door on a Thursday night at 8:17. It’s her leisure time, sure, so at least the knock doesn’t mess up her schedule, but a knock late at night could mean any number of unpleasant things.

As Genevieve opens the door, she hopes it’s not about the plumbing.

In front of the door, there’s a woman. A tall woman with a head of blonde curls and a bright blue t-shirt that says, “Penguins are a state of mind”. The smile on her face looks like it’s always there, creasing the skin around her eyes and pulling her lips apart over her ridiculously shiny white teeth.

“Hi,” the woman says, holding out her hand, “I’m Adrianne. Your new neighbor from 2C.”

Genevieve takes her hand. It’s warm and soft, but also a little rough, like she works with her hands but uses hand lotion a lot. A firm grip that’s not too tight and not too loose, just right.

“Hi, Adrianne,” she says. It’s a name that makes your mouth smile a little when you say it. “I’m Genevieve.” And because Genevieve knows that you should acknowledge information someone just gave you, she adds, “Welcome to the building.”

Her mother would probably take Adrianne’s hand in both of hers at that point and smile that warm smile that wins everyone over, but Genevieve is not like that, so she pulls her hand away. She still tries for a smile, but it turns out a little crooked, and she’s somehow unable to really catch Adrianne’s eye, looking off to the side instead.

Adrianne doesn’t seem fazed.

“Great to meet you, Genevieve.” She smiles a little more brightly, which Genevieve wouldn’t have thought possible, and says, “Hey, I'm throwing a little housewarming party this Saturday. Maybe you wanna come?”

Genevieve isn’t spontaneous, but she doesn’t want to be rude either, so she takes a moment to think, probably a bit too long.

Next Saturday – that’s only two days away. It’s also the third Saturday of the month. Genevieve goes out to dinner with Loretta, her godmother, on even Saturdays (the second and the fourth – with earth months, there’s never a sixth of any weekday). In theory, she doesn’t have plans yet, outside of the standard designation of the time from six to eleven pm as “leisure time”.

Genevieve isn’t spontaneous.

“Yes,” she says, “I’d like that.”

\--

Less than forty-eight hours later, Genevieve stands in front of 2C, unsure what to do. There’s music coming from behind the door, muffled voices and the sound of laughter. Maybe she should just go back to her apartment. It’s not like Adrianne would miss her – she probably just invited Genevieve to be nice. Or to make sure she won’t call the police because of the noise.

Genevieve looks at the bottle in her hand, a nice, chilled white wine – not too nice, though, she didn’t want to overdo it – with a bow around the neck securing a bottle opener. Her hand is cold from the bottle and a little damp with condensation.

Part of her wants to leave, but part of her doesn’t, so she knocks. Adrianne’s smile when she opens the door and sees Genevieve is completely worth it.

\--

The next few days, Genevieve’s back to her old routine, and it doesn’t feel like she ever did anything different in the first place. Adrianne’s party, which she left early, slipping out after an hour or so, already seems far away, almost like remembering something from a movie, not something out of her own life. But when she bumps into Adrianne in the mailroom on Wednesday, she’s reminded that it _was_ something real.

“Hey,” Adrianne says, balancing a paper bag with groceries on her hip as she opens her mailbox, “how’s it going?”

“Good, thanks,” Genevieve replies. “And you?” Her answer is probably too short and makes her sound stand-offish. It’s a problem she’s always had.

Adrianne doesn’t seem to mind, though. “I’m good, too,” she says with another of those bright smiles. “I’m really getting settled in.” She locks her mailbox again, but doesn’t turn to leave. “The apartment is much less of a mess than it was at the party.”

Yeah, Genevieve had noticed the unpacked boxes stashed in one corner of the room. She still remembers, too, how Adrianne saw the bottle opener attached to Genevieve's housewarming gift and squeezed her hand, saying, “You’re a lifesaver. I bought a few bottles of wine, but I just couldn’t find my opener in any of the boxes. At least now we can celebrate in style.”

“That’s good,” Genevieve answers, then sputters, “I mean … I don’t mean to say that your apartment was a mess.” Oh god.

“But why not?” Adrianne winks at her. “It totally was. I wanted to get everything in order on Friday and Saturday, but then I had to work, and all I had time for was to try and get the worst of it out of the way.”

Adrianne’s so easy-going about this, doesn’t even really seem to register Genevieve’s awkwardness, and Genevieve realizes that it’s probably hard to offend Adrianne unintentionally – even for someone like herself. It makes Genevieve relax a little. “I still liked it,” she says, and she means it, too. “Especially that big table and the chairs. They’re beautiful and,” she searches for the right word, “homey.” She doesn’t say that they fit someone as kind and warm as Adrianne, but they do.

There’s a proud shine all over Adrianne’s face when she says, “I made those.” And when Genevieve gives her an uncomprehending look, she adds, “I don’t think I told you: I mostly work in landscaping, but I do a little carpentry on the side.”

“That’s great,” Genevieve says, and this time, her eyes find Adrianne’s without even trying.

“You know what?” Adrianne says, a spark of excitement in her voice. “How about you help me hang my pictures this weekend, and I’ll make you dinner in return?”

Genevieve doesn’t even stop to consider if it’s an even Saturday this weekend before she nods in agreement.

\--

“This is really good,” Genevieve says as she takes another forkful of the shrimp and mushroom linguine. It’s not on the list of thirty-five dishes she likes and usually eats, but it’s great, especially that smooth cream sauce with fresh herbs. The whole afternoon has been great. Adrianne is nice and easy-going, and when Genevieve is a little quiet or her answers are shorter than they probably should be in polite conversation, she doesn’t seem to mind at all.

In all honesty, it didn’t take long to hang the pictures, and Genevieve is pretty sure Adrianne could have done it by herself without a problem. The thought makes excitement bubble up inside her. Maybe Adrianne just asked her for a favor as an excuse to see her again, to invite her to dinner – but she tries not to read too much into it. Adrianne’s so warm and open, it's probably just in her nature, making casual friends wherever she goes. Genevieve doesn’t like setting herself up for disappointment.

Even with both of them sitting down, Adrianne is significantly taller than her, but somehow she still manages to look up at Genevieve through her lashes. “I’m happy you like the food,” she says, then swallows. “I wanted to impress you.”

That makes Genevieve cough a little in surprise, spitting a bit of linguine back on her plate and feeling her face grow hot. She wipes her mouth with the cloth napkin Adrianne put out earlier. “Impress _me_?”

“Sorry,” Adrianne says and suddenly, she looks a little smaller, not nearly as confident. “Too much, too soon – that’s me.” She throws a smile in Genevieve’s direction that seems forced and doesn’t really look Genevieve in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

And yeah, Genevieve doesn’t like to set herself up for disappointment, but maybe with all the clues Adrianne’s been giving her, it’s time to take a risk. At least a reasonable one.

“But I am,” she says, and Adrianne looks stricken. It takes a moment for Genevieve to process why, and her cheeks positively burn when she gets it. “Impressed, I mean,” she hastily corrects herself. “I am impressed.”

Adrianne exhales deeply, relief washing over her features. She looks up at Genevieve again, still a little shyly, but with a small, genuine smile. “Really?”

Genevieve reaches out and puts her hand over Adrianne’s. “Really.”

When Genevieve leaves later that night, Adrianne places a quick kiss on her lips that makes Genevieve want and think of more until she falls asleep.

\--

Soon, they sleep over most nights. It’s great. Genevieve probably hasn’t had as much fun – and eaten as well – in her whole life. Adrianne is lovely and loving and hilarious and she even shares Genevieve's fondness for cheesy old horror movies. Genevieve should feel lucky – and she does. But she also feels a little drained sometimes. Because Adrianne has a tendency to make a mess of Genevieve’s kitchen and is often careless with her stuff and half of the time, she’s late.

One night, about thirty minutes after the time they agreed to have dinner together, Adrianne storms into Genevieve’s apartment, two pieces of paper in her hand.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she says, face flushed and eyes gleaming. “I got us tickets to that production of _The Invention of Love_ you talked about.” She proudly waves the tickets in front of Genevieve’s face, and Genevieve can hardly believe it. She read about this wonderful production in the _New York Times_ last Sunday and mentioned to Adrianne that it’s one of her favorite plays and yet she’s never seen it on stage.

She breaks out into a huge smile. “Oh my god,” she says, “that’s amazing,” and throws her arms around Adrianne’s neck. “You’re amazing,” she murmurs, the cold gnocchi and overcooked steak in the kitchen almost forgotten. “What date?”

“Tomorrow,” Adrianne beams.

“But the show’s in New York,” Genevieve says slowly. Adrianne nods.

“That’s a five-hour drive, at least - and tomorrow’s Wednesday. I have to work,” Genevieve says.

Adrianne’s smile doesn’t dim and she shrugs. “Play hooky.”

Genevieve can’t believe it. “Adrianne,” she says and she can hear the sternness in her own voice, “we’re not in high school anymore. I can’t just _play hooky_.”

“Come on,” Adrianne replies, a little annoyed, “just take a sick day, do something spontaneous. Live a little.”

Genevieve’s breath catches in her chest for a moment. _Live a little._ It stings – and suddenly, it also feels inevitable that Adrianne would say something like it, that she would tire of Genevieve and how unexciting and predictable she is.

Genevieve takes a deep breath, tries to compose herself. “I think it would be best if you left,” she says, her voice close to a monotone.

“What?” Adrianne asks, dumbfounded.

“I can reimburse you for the tickets,” Genevieve says stiffly. She doesn’t want to fall apart. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I don’t want you to _reimburse me_ for the fucking tickets.” Adrianne almost shouts. “That’s not what I’m worried about. I want you to be happy, not tell me that I’m an immature child when I just wanted to do something nice for you.” Her voice drops and she takes a step in Genevieve’s direction. “And I don’t want you to shut me out just because we’re having our first fight.”

That throws Genevieve off, makes her feel a little off-kilter, and she stays quiet for a while, thinking through what Adrianne just said. Adrianne just keeps standing there, letting her think without trying to fill the silence, without crowing her, and it makes Genevieve realize that Adrianne already knows her better than most other people do.

“I can’t be like you,” Genevieve finally says. “I can be a little more like you, I want to be, but not a lot.” She breathes and takes one of Adrianne’s hands in both of hers. “I’m boring, I know. And I like my routines and to know what’s coming.” She rubs Adrianne’s hand between her palms, and feels like she's trying to get as much touch in as she can before it all ends. She sniffles and it makes her feel weak, but she owes Adrianne this much. “And I want to be spontaneous, but I can’t be, not like this. I can’t lie to my boss and skip work. I can’t be what you need.”

When she looks up, Adrianne’s eyes are dark. “That’s bullshit, Genevieve,” she says. “You already _are_ what I need.” She takes a step closer and fits her one hand around the side of Genevieve’s face. “And what I want, too.”

They talk a lot that evening about all the things Genevieve thought would end their relationship, and she’s amazed to see how much Adrianne tries to understand, how she keeps paraphrasing Genevieve’s words to make absolutely sure she got it right.

Genevieve’s even more surprised to learn that Adrianne has her own hang-ups, too, that she isn’t all carefree and happy-go-lucky about their relationship either. That she’s afraid she’s not grown-up enough for Genevieve, not cultured and refined enough, that _Genevieve_ might get tired of _her_.

Genevieve is not naïve, she knows that one conversation won’t make all their problems disappear. But when Adrianne arrives five minutes early to their next date with a big, clunky watch strapped around her wrist, she knows they’re off to a good start.

\--

A few weeks later, Genevieve absentmindedly picks up a flyer lying on ground while she's waiting for the train. It's for the student-run theatre in Fairfax and she's about to throw it into the nearest trash can when realizes that they’re showing an Ed Wood double feature – _Glen or Glenda_ and _Plan Nine from Outer Space_ – on Two Buck Tuesday. Which is today. She only hesitates a moment before she takes out her phone and calls Adrianne.

“I _love_ _Plan Nine_ ,” Adrianne says, then adds quickly, “but we can leave after _Glen or Glenda_ , rent that _Plan Nine_ this weekend. I can make caramelized popcorn.”

It’s so obvious that Adrianne is trying to respect Genevieve's bedtime and not make it a big deal, and Genevieve answers with a smile, “And miss seeing _Plan Nine_ on the big screen? I don’t think so.”

Genevieve winds up going to bed over an hour later than usual, and she feels it a little the next day, but the great time they’re having together, and with like-minded Wood fans, more than makes up for it.

\--

One Sunday a couple of months later, they’re sitting on the balcony of Genevieve’s apartment, drinking iced tea and relaxing. Genevieve’s reading a crime novel while Adrianne makes some sketches for one of her carpentry projects.

“You know,” Adrianne says into the comfortable quiet, “I’ve had an idea.”

“Yeah?” Genevieve looks up from her novel.

“It makes no sense for you to come back up here each morning when you sleep over at my place.” Adrianne smiles, but she also cocks her head a little in that way she has when she’s nervous. “So I thought you should have your own dresser - a place for some clothes, shoes, and some other stuff, you know?”

“I’d like that,” Genevieve says. She gets up and briefly rests her hand on Adrianne’s shoulder. “And you know what? I’ll go right now and see if I can’t clear a few shelves and some space in my closet out for you, too.”

At that, Adrianne gives her a bright smile. A few weeks later, it's Genevieve's turn to smile so brightly it almost hurts her face. Turns out that Adrianne doesn’t just buy a new dresser for Genevieve's things, but that she makes one with her own hands. And like that isn't amazing enough, it's in the same style as the table and chairs in Adrianne's kitchen that Genevieve loves so much.

\--

It’s fall and the days grow shorter when Genevieve finds an opportunity to do something special for Adrianne, too. She tells Adrianne to dress warmly – “Wooly hat, scarf and gloves, please. And thick socks would probably be good, too.” – and to be ready to get picked up at nine in the evening, but she doesn’t tell her why. Then Genevieve drives them out of the city, away from its lights, for a late-night picnic at a secluded spot she scoped out a few days ago. She brings blankets and bug spray and a battery-powered lantern as well as a basket full of food and drink. Some items are from Adrianne’s favorite deli, but the hummus and the tomato soup Genevieve brought along in a thermos are made from scratch.

As Adrianne licks some hummus off her fingers, she laughs and says, “I have no idea what this is about, Gen, but I like it.” Genevieve simply smiles.

“Now lie down on your back,” she instructs.

“I like that even better.” There’s a smirk clear in Adrianne’s voice.

Genevieve just lies down next to her, in the crook of Adrianne’s arm, and turns off the lantern so they lie in near-absolute darkness. “Just look up in the sky for a while. Please.”

Adrianne presses a kiss to Genevieve's temple, then turns her head back so she can observe the night sky. When the first star falls, she tightens her grip around Genevieve’s shoulder and shrieks in excitement.

“Oh my god, Gen. That was a shooting star, wasn’t it?” The enthusiasm in Adrianne’s voice is so bright and genuine.

“Yes, it was,” Genevieve confirms.

They keep looking up together, huddled close, and are rewarded by a few more beautiful stars crossing their vision.

Finally, when the spectacle seems to be over for the night, Adrianne rolls to her side, takes off her gloves and runs a finger along Genevieve’s cheek. “Thank you,” she says. “That was beautiful.”

“I wanted to impress you,” Genevieve says, smiling.

Adrianne’s eyes sparkle. “I am,” she replies and gives Genevieve a quick kiss. “I am very impressed.” And then she lifts her one leg and straddles Genevieve, taking her face in both hands and sliding her lips over Genevieve's mouth, soft and insistent. And for a moment, Genevieve hesitates, thinks about how they’re outside, not in private, and how someone could come by any second and catch them. The thought is a little thrilling, but a lot more terrifying, and Adrianne seems to sense her apprehension and starts pulling back.

“Let’s pack up and go home,” she says and the husk in her voice – after only one kiss, Genevieve thinks a little dizzily – is what makes Genevieve reconsider. This is such a perfect night, such an out-of-the-way spot – that’s why she chose it, after all – and they haven’t seen a soul all night. More importantly, though, Genevieve realizes that she wants this. That she really wants it and wants it right now.

She feels almost drunk as she pulls Adrianne back down onto her. “Let’s not," she says. “I think we should stay a while longer.” She feels a little crazy and more than a little sexy as she says it.

“You’re the boss,” Adrianne replies and dives in to pick up where they left off. Their kisses grow wetter, messier, more intense, and soon Adrianne’s hips circle down in that smooth, deep rhythm that always drives Genevieve mad.

Genevieve can’t take her own gloves off fast enough, can’t pull Adrianne’s scarf away quickly enough. All she wants is to get to that beautiful, warm neck, kiss it and bite it and suck on it. She feels reckless and alive with want. Her hands find Adrianne’s hips and she grabs them so she can shift Adrianne's body. It's not delicate, a little rough and uncoordinated, but it positions them just right. Adrianne's one thigh rubbing between Genevieve’s spread legs while Adrianne can ride one of Genevieve’s thighs at the same time.

Genevieve doesn’t quite know where the urgency comes from, but it’s there and she loves it, relishes it. It’s so unlike how she knows herself, but it doesn’t feel fake. It feels real and honest and so good. She pushes her hips up-up-up, wanting more friction, wanting to push the pulsing heat of her pussy against Adrianne, make her feel it even through layers of clothes, make her come just from all that grinding and kissing and the hand Genevieve manages to slip under Adrianne’s sweater. Her fingers are cold, she knows, and her touch makes Adrianne shudder, but when Genevieve starts kneading her breast, rolling the nipple between her fingers in that half-tender, half-rough way she knows Adrianne loves, Adrianne moans deep and low. She presses her whole body into Genevieve, panting meaningless noises against Genevieve’s ear and pulling Genevieve’s hips up against her own with more force than rhythm. Genevieve’s so wet, so hot all over, she can feel the sweat pooling at the small of her back, under her breasts, everywhere beneath her clothes, and when Adrianne pushes down into her one last time before she bites her orgasm into Genevieve’s skin, Genevieve already feels her own climax pulse through her body.

Adrianne doesn’t even bother rolling off of her afterward, and Genevieve likes the weight and heat of Adrianne's body on top of her as they cool down.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Genevieve says, more in awe than anything else.

“I know.” Adrianne laughs a little. “We should do it more often.” It sounds blissed-out, not cocky.

“We definitely should,” Genevieve says, winding her arm possessively around Adrianne’s waist.

\--

A year later, Genevieve still gets up at 7:15 a.m. most mornings and goes to bed at 11:00 p.m. most nights. She slides into bed on the left side and slides out on the right, but now she has to roll over a warm, sleeping body to get to the other side, smelling the skin at the crook of Adrianne’s neck and pressing a kiss against her collarbone. She eats oatmeal with berries on Mondays, oatmeal with nuts and preserve on Tuesdays, and cornflakes with a sliced banana and semi-skimmed milk on the other weekdays. On weekends, however, she only has some yoghurt when she gets out of bed, so when Adrianne wakes up around 9:00 a.m., they can have a big breakfast together. Sometimes, there’s pancakes or omelettes or fresh brioche from the bakery across the street. Adrianne likes to mix things up, and Genevieve is not even surprised anymore that she mostly likes it, too. They eat at the table and share the paper, and sometimes they don’t talk much, but their ankles are somehow always touching.

Genevieve takes twenty-seven minutes in the bathroom each morning and eight each night, but only on the days she showers alone. She still does the dishes before bed, but they split vacuuming duties, so she only does it every Wednesdays – and cleaning each Saturday turns out to only take about two hours when you do it together.

When it’s over forty degrees out and the weather forecast doesn’t predict rain, Genevieve takes a forty-five minute walk every evening an hour after dinner – most of the time, she doesn’t go alone. If it’s colder or rainy, she rarely ever uses the gym anymore, but spends the time with Adrianne instead. Sometimes, they just curl up on the couch or play board games, but other times, Adrianne gives her a pretty good workout without ever leaving the bedroom.

Genevieve knows exactly how long it takes to get from her office to Adrianne’s place of work and what time Adrianne usually gets off each day.

There are a lot of things Genevieve doesn’t know, but what she does know for sure is that she is happy and content and that her world won’t collapse simply because she takes a step or two off the trodden path.

Most importantly, though, she knows that Adrianne will be right there with her. 


End file.
